The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 316

Harlan snorted. “The Ingram and Windore families may not swim in money like yours, but sixty million is hardly beyond us.”

“How unfortunate,” Julius murmured, eyes on the passing lights. “I never intended another man to cover what I spend on my girlfriend.”

“Quinnie is not your girlfriend,” Harlan shot back, anger flaring. “You two already broke up.”

“I never said we were over,” Julius corrected, voice unhurried. “We're merely taking a brief step apart.”

Their eyes collided in the rear-view mirror, sparks firing until the temperature inside felt several degrees hotter.

The chauffeur clutched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened.

If these two titans chose to brawl, he doubted even Doria's laws could contain the fallout.

Yet in front, Quinn never turned. Head bowed, she drifted deeper into her private storm.

By the time they rolled up to a high-end waterfront restaurant, the driver's palms were slick with sweat.

The trio stepped inside and claimed a private dining suite bathed in amber lamplight.

Once the waiter departed with their order, Julius folded his hands. “You want surveillance footage,” he asked Quinn. “Did something new turn up?”

Quinn didn't hedge. She inhaled, her shoulders squaring, and let the words spill. “At Regal Ace Casino, I spotted a man who looked unnervingly like Rowan. He saw me, yet showed no flicker of recognition. I hurried after him, only to be blocked by casino security.”

Julius's face drained of color; the fork in his hand stilled mid-air as though frozen. “You actually saw a man who looks like your brother?”

The question rattled from him, his voice trembling so hard the syllables nearly fractured.

Quinn dipped her chin, a short, decisive motion. Were she judging by features alone, she would have sworn it was Rowan. Yet the man's tailored silk suit and the blank, unfamiliar stare had seeded doubt in her chest.

A new tension coiled inside Julius, tighter than anything Quinn felt. Every second until Fabian delivered the surveillance footage stretched like a wire about to snap. He understood better than anyone: if Rowan were still breathing somewhere, there might yet be a path back to Quinn's forgiveness. But if Rowan were truly gone, that door would slam forever shut on him.

Quinn skimmed her fork across the plate, lifting mashed potato to her lips while the untouched vegetables cooled beside it.

Harlan leaned over, concern softening his usual swagger, and placed some steak on her plate. “Quinnie, no matter what's happening, you can't live on potatoes alone. Have some protein.”

Quinn exhaled, the sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “I know. I'm just not in the right headspace to savor anything.”

Questions crowded her mind—possibilities, fears, wild theories—until it felt the very marrow of her skull might burst.

The recordings showed the man entering a lift, exiting on a higher floor, then striding to the curb where a gray van waited. The camera caught the license plate in crisp detail, each digit clear as daylight.

Quinn's eyes flared with sudden light. “Can we trace this plate and find him?” She jabbed a finger at the frozen frame before turning a beseeching look on Julius.

“Of course. I'll have my people dig up everything about that van and the man inside it,” Julius assured her.

Sitting beside Quinn, Harlan understood full well that Julius wielded serious influence in Doria, and that the Whitethorn intelligence network ranked among the finest anywhere.

Within the sprawling labyrinth of Doria, Julius hunted for a single missing soul. Somehow, he moved faster than anyone else, sifting through official red tape and back-alley whispers alike with unnerving precision.

Quinn drew a steadying breath, then lifted her eyes to him, warmth flickering behind her lashes. “Thank you—truly.”

After the meal, Quinn and Harlan stood, ready to return to the hotel and wait for news, when Julius stepped forward and caught Quinn gently—yet firmly—by the forearm. “I need to speak with you.”

Quinn arched a brow, striving for composure even as a pulse thrummed beneath his fingers. “Say what you need to say.”

“I would prefer we spoke alone,” Julius replied, allowing his gaze to flick—pointed, restrained—toward Harlan before returning to Quinn.